


You Just Give In

by CircleUp



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 10:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20674226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleUp/pseuds/CircleUp
Summary: Deadpool blows Peter on a building. That's the plot.





	You Just Give In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlagueClover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlagueClover/gifts).

Peter's tired.

Patrol ends with him on the roof of a building, common enough. He's stashed his backpack up here, out of the way, out of sight. He changes where he leaves it every night he goes out, a just-in-case for anyone trying to follow him, which does happen. SHIELD's sent agents after him before, never to apprehend, but trying to secure his identity. He saw Agent Barton on his tail once, and Romanoff another time, and his spidey-sense let him easily lose them both, but no one had been after him for the past few months. He wonders if they gave up or, more likely, if they found what they'd been after.

His head hurts. He rolls his shoulders, his neck, and cracks his spine in a way that should be satisfying but just makes him feel like he wants to crack it again to get that brief relief back. He's an addict seeking a high he can't produce any more. Peter's in his twenties, but nights like this make him feel like he's fifty, sixty, eighty. A hundred. It feels like he's been doing this forever. Worse, it feels like he won't ever stop.

Crime doesn't end. He goes out and goes out and goes out, and it's never over.

"Baby boy!" exclaims a voice behind him. Peter startles. Deadpool is, for whatever reason, the only person in the world who manages to get the jump on him. He hates it, doesn't like being surprised, but he has to give the mercenary credit—the timing wasn't an accident, Peter knows. Deadpool's made a point before to make sure that Peter stays masked. He keeps Peter's identity safe, even from himself.

Maybe he doesn't trust himself not to sell it once he has it.

"Deadpool," Peter sighs, hand dropping from where he'd been about to lift his mask, change into civilian clothes, go home. He turns. "Not really in the mood."

The mercenary cocks his head to the side, a puppy. "Not even for a suckjob? Nothing?"

It isn't the first time Deadpool's offered. He's handsy, mouthy, a walking sexual harassment suit just waiting to happen for the first person brave enough to bother. Peter's heard everything from him, and usually writes it off.

This time he says, "Alright."

It stops Deadpool in the middle of his ramble, which had continued after _nothing_ into a poetic list of Peter's assets. Mostly his ass's assets. "Did you just say alright?"

"Yes," Peter says, a little irritated he has to say it again. "Fine. You win. Blow me. Or, whatever. Just, put a sock in it."

"Oooo." Deadpool moves with a grace that should be impossible for a man of his bulk. He's someone who turns brutality into a ballet, and now he's prowling to stop in front of Peter. "I'll put more than just a sock in it."

"That's the idea," Peter mutters, unimpressed. Deadpool suddenly freezes and cocks his head again.

"Wait a sec, quick thing. How old are ya in this fanfic?"

Peter, as usual, has no ability to follow the train of thought jumping off the rails like that, and is starting to regret impulsively agreeing. "What?"

"Your age, baby boy. 'Cause I know you got bit as a baby. Well a teen, which is like a baby. Other writers, take note: it's still pedophilia."

"This is least sexy way my night could have gone," Peter tells him crossly. He's folded his arms over his chest. "If you're not going to—"

"Oh, I am. I'm just confirming."

"I'm _of age_, Christ. Get on with it." Peter's more than annoyed. The headache is blooming larger, spots behind his eyes, and Deadpool drops elegantly to his knees.

"Commando?" He guesses before he's even done anything. His gloved hands come up to Peter's waist, fingers finding the seam. Peter scowls down at him, but Deadpool's focused now, tugging the spandex down to Peter's knees. Peter isn't wearing underwear.

Peter doesn't look down. He's looking anywhere else, across the rooftop to the skyline, to the stars, anywhere but to the masked man on his knees before him. For a hate fuck, if this is a hate fuck, he isn't really participating.

He doesn't know what this is.

Deadpool wraps his fingers around him. The glove is a unique sensation, the leather soft and warm from his body heat. He strokes, gentle, a few times, until Peter's hard.

"Close your eyes," Deadpool murmurs. It startles Peter out of self-incriminating thoughts and he looks down before he's able to catch himself. The mercenary has drawn his mask up halfway. Peter can see the gut-churning scars marring the lower half of his face.

"What?" He's startled enough that he doesn't snap it.

"Close your eyes," Deadpool encourages, meaning it. "And I'm anyone you want me to be." Then, before Peter can even begin to think of a response to that, he's swallowed whole.

Deadpool's mouth, though Peter hasn't had a lot of mouths to compare, is like no other. He's unnaturally hot, and swallows Peter to the hilt in one wet slide, then stays there for a moment, nose pressed to Peter's skin.

Peter curls his fingers to his sides, resisting the urge to touch, and Deadpool starts moving.

It's sloppy and hot and fast. Peter swears Deadpool is trying to suck his brain out through his cock and might be succeeding. It'd be embarrassing how quickly his balls tighten, legs trembling, if Deadpool wasn't so fucking good at this. This was a mistake, clearly; how will Peter ever find someone better after? Deadpool bobs his head over him like it's his life's mission to swallow his cum and Peter doesn't disappoint, his knees nearly buckling when he shoots into his mouth, down that hot throat. He moans and catches himself on Deadpool's shoulders.

It's over just as fast. Peter barely has time to register cool air before the mercenary is pulling his pants up, fixing his own mask, climbing to his feet.

"That was fun," he comments, while Peter's still trying to register what just happened. "Same time next week?"

"Yeah," is all Peter can say stupidly, and Deadpool grins under his mask and goes and fucking leaps off of the building to leave. Peter registers a grappling hook distantly.

Only when he's gone, does Peter realize and echo, "Wait, next week?"

**Author's Note:**

> Gift-prompt for Clover of the Erotica Abyss.


End file.
